


Kisstober 2020: Day 26- Distraction Kisses

by fromthebeginningthen



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Autistic William Schofield, Baking, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Genderbending, sensory issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:28:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27203167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromthebeginningthen/pseuds/fromthebeginningthen
Summary: Blakefield, but make it sapphic!Willow and Blake bake some bread.
Relationships: Tom Blake/William Schofield
Comments: 8
Kudos: 12
Collections: Blakefield Kisstober 2020





	Kisstober 2020: Day 26- Distraction Kisses

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [Jamie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigbidumbass/pseuds/bigbidumbass/works?fandom_id=38280694) for beta-ing this fic!
> 
> This work is dedicated to [Wally](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milothatches/pseuds/Milothatches/works?fandom_id=38280694), [Pavel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/svladcjelli/pseuds/svladcjelli/works?fandom_id=38280694), [Maddie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChillMachineBroke/pseuds/ChillMachineBroke/works?fandom_id=38280694), and all other autistic folks in the 1917 fandom!
> 
> Annnnd we finally have ourselves the first wlw version of Blakefield (that I know of, I could be wrong)! The names I've gone with are Willow Schofield and Blake Thomas (which was big brain invented by Jamie after listening to me lament about using Blake cause I couldn't find an alternate first name starting with a T that felt remotely right for me)!

Blake loved to bake. She always had. Growing up, her mother loved baking and taught her everything she knew now. She would stand on a chair pulled up to the counter’s edge and follow her mother’s instructions as best as she could. Her skills improved over time, and now she was at a point where she could bake from recipes held close in her memory.

Baking was an art, she felt, like putting a part of yourself into each creation. There was nothing better than finishing a bake and getting to see the reactions of the people you loved as they got to enjoy your food. So, of course, she wanted to share this with the love of her life, Willow.

There were two problems: Willow didn’t enjoy baking, and she didn’t like most foods. The latter problem was easiest for Blake to rectify. She would just have to choose recipes she knew Willow would enjoy, like a simple French bread or chocolate cake. The former problem was a sensory and executive function issue for Willow. She found the act of baking to be messy and gross, and she avoided it unless absolutely necessary. She also found cooking instructions to be confusing and hard to follow, and it just left her feeling frustrated and overwhelmed.

Blake assured her that baking was different, that it needed specific chemistry or else the food wouldn’t be the right textures and tastes. That Blake could write the recipes down so Willow would be able to read it and keep track in a tangible way. There wasn’t any easy way around the sensory aspect unless they avoided baking entirely, but Blake wanted Willow to at least _try_ _._ She was determined that she could make it fun for Willow.

Willow loved Blake a lot, and it’s why it didn’t take much persuasion for her to finally agree. Blake never pushed her into agreeing, in fact, how things usually went is that Blake would start on a recipe and casually ask, “Want to help?” and Willow would reply “No, thank you.” And that would be it.

In her head, Willow always thought, “Maybe next time.” Because she knew how much it would mean to Blake for her to help. For Willow to bake with Blake, it would be like when Blake sat and listened to Willow go on and on about the latest study she read on the effects of custom music in monkeys, or anything else of the sort. Blake didn’t understand it, but she knew it made Willow happy and that was enough to listen and ask questions.

So, after a year of dating and weeks of mental preparation, Blake said “Want to help?” and Willow said, “Yes, I think I will.”

The resulting surprise then elation brightening Blake’s face made Willow confident that she’d made the right decision. Blake tried to conceal her excitement because she didn’t want to act like it was a big deal, even though it was. She knew treating it like a big deal could make it harder for Willow.

Willow was good at reading Blake, so she knew this and she was always touched by the ways in which Blake was considerate of her experiences. She had her own smile that she didn’t bother hiding, she wanted Blake to know that she wanted this.

Blake clapped her hands together once then pulled her curls up into a messy bun before getting a sheet of paper to write down the steps involved with her favorite French bread recipe. With that choice, Willow would get to have her favorite warm fresh bread and butter and Blake would get to have garlic bread. It was a common thing for her to make for the both of them to use, so it was a good choice now.

The two of them talked while working on the recipe, only pausing when Willow asked for clarification on a direction and seeing if she’d mixed something together well enough. Blake let Willow do the initial ingredient mixing, since she figured she would take over when it was time to use their hands to really start kneading the dough.

But to Blake’s surprise, Willow stared at the mixture now too thick and sticky for their spoon, then stuck her hands in it. Her face immediately pinched up at the feeling, but she pushed through it while Blake slowly added more flour.

Willow told herself over and over in her head that she could just wash her hands after and it would be fine, the feeling would go away and she’d live. But it was becoming stressful, the stickiness just felt _wrong_ and she needed it off. She could hear Blake saying something to her, but she couldn’t focus enough to figure out what it was. She couldn’t keep doing this. No one was forcing her to, and the moment she remembered that she yanked her hands out of the dough, which caused the bowl to clatter against the countertop with the force.

She stared at her hands, looked at the incomplete dough and flour clinging and crumbling to her fingers and palms. The sensation of it pulling at her skin where it was already drying in some places, amplifying her disgust. Before she could think about it, she reflexively shook her hands in a futile attempt to get rid of the feeling. She only succeeded in flinging a larger clump of dough onto Blake’s cheek. _Blake._

Willow still held her hands awkwardly out, but finally met Blake’s gaze and paid attention to what she was saying. It was hard, but she needed to focus because Blake was good.

“Hold on, love,” Blake was saying.

Willow’s brows pulled together in confusion, she didn’t want to touch anything right now.

Blake turned away and when she came back, she nuzzled her nose into Willow’s and said, “I got you.” She pressed a gentle kiss to Willow’s mouth, waiting for reciprocation before pressing harder.

Willow was used to this touch, it was one of her favorites. She leaned into Blake’s kiss and breathed in carefully, smelling Blake’s familiar deodorant and smiling slightly at the feeling of Blake’s warm lips pressed to her own. Those very lips that she was content to just trace with her fingertips sometimes when they laid in bed, and Blake’s nose would wrinkle as it tickled, but she let Willow do it anyway.

As Willow focused on that, she started to feel something else. A warm dampness on her hands. The disgust she was feeling before had lessened enough that she figured out what it was. Blake was cleaning her hands off with a warm washcloth from the sink, gently removing the cause of Willow’s distress and successfully distracting her in the process.

When Blake finished and Willow’s hands were pristine once more, Willow cupped her cheek in her hand and initiated another kiss. This time ending it with a whispered, “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Blake said. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Now then,” Blake pulled away and refocused on their unfinished bread dough. “Next time you could just ask me to take over.”

Willow groaned, “I know. I wanted to try at least once. _Once_ being the operative word, I think I’m set for life.”

Blake laughed while she continued kneading the dough with expert hands. She didn’t mind, it meant the world that Willow had tried at all.

Willow walked up behind Blake and wrapped her arms around her waist, leaning in to rub her lips against the soft skin exposed at the back of Blake’s neck. She was still seeking more pleasant sensory information, and there was always an abundance of it from Blake. She hummed contentedly as she settled in to watch over Blake’s shoulder as Blake continued in her ministrations of the dough.

**Author's Note:**

> Blake only uses a stand mixer for large recipes because she didn’t have one when she learned how to bake with her mother, so she prefers to do everything by hand still for the nostalgia of it all.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed! Always nice for me to rub my little autistic and lesbian hands over my latest OTP!
> 
> Comments and kudos are much appreciated! And if you wanna yell at me at all, I'm on [twitter](https://twitter.com/LCpl_blakefield)!


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